


Snapshots

by AnontheNullifier



Series: The Maximoffs [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drabbles, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Prompts and Requests, The Maximoffs - Freeform, older Twins, one shots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-11 01:37:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13514037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnontheNullifier/pseuds/AnontheNullifier
Summary: A series of loosely connected one shots and drabbles concerning the later years in the Maximoff household.





	1. A Matter of Principal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda and Vision have to deal with the school Principal...again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This collection is going to concern the Maximoff Family, primarily the teenage years. All of these so far are based on prompts/requests from Tumblr. If you have a drabble idea, feel free to let me know here or on Tumblr (anonthenullifier.tumblr.com). I do my best to get to them in a timely manner, but balance my limited writing time between these shorter requests and my longer Scarlet Vision stories. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> This chapter's prompt from deathofink: You think Wanda and Vision occasionally have to come in to see the Principal because Tommy gets in trouble?

The right, left, left, right journey through the hallways has become quite automatic, her eyes no longer searching for helpful signs with arrows and room numbers, instead her feet just take them there. Part of this routine includes stopping just out of sight of the office, the large, impressively well-cleaned floor to ceiling windows offer no room for hiding, so they always devise a plan prior to Jody’s eagle eyes spotting them. “What’s the plan of attack, Maximoff?”

Vision shakes his head, not a dramatic gesture, but one he began using when the boys were two and refused to wear pants. It is a sign of his utter defeat in the face of obstinate and illogical foes. “Learn of the issue and if there is reason for punishment then we acquiesce with their recommendations?”

“And if there’s not reason for punishment?” An option that is far more likely given the last few times they’ve been called in included how Tommy shouldn’t have thrown his gum in the recycling bin, how he shouldn’t take his jacket off at school, and how he is breaking the dress code with his unnaturally colored hair. Even the one time there might have been a legitimate reason for them to be in this position, the day Tommy punched another student hard enough to break his nose, the reason for the attack (a name volleyed at Billy that neither boy has ever willinging repeated to Vision or Wanda) made any punishment not just worthless, but counterintuitive.

“Then we begin with logic and if that fails, you may once again prove to me that humans are irrational and use some convoluted emotional appeal to get him out of trouble.” The words might be construed as harsh if not for the wistful, minuscule smirk grazing his lips as he winks at her, her own lips responding in kind as she squeezes his arm in agreement. “Shall we?”

Fifteen steps brings them into view of the Principal’s office, the windows clear enough, not even one fingerprint smudge to obscure any ounce of the inside of the office, to show Tommy nervously bouncing in a chair while Jody, the administrative assistant, glares at him. Wanda opens the door, holding it so Vision can walk through, not only because she enjoys the way he smiles at small actions like this, but because she knows how much Jody despises when Vision is not being chivalrous enough. “Jody,” Wanda nods towards the woman before pivoting on her heels to look at her son, “Tommy.”

Tommy bolts upright, eyes wide and a sheepish smile (one he definitely gets from his father) greeting her. “Hi.”

Vision’s signature move in these instances is to sit down, get on Tommy’s level as he purses his lips, attempting to exude a sense of seriousness yet keep the paternal comfort, “Thomas, what happened this time?”

“Excuse me,” the polite yet harsh syllables enrage Wanda, powers buzzing in her palms as the woman behind the desk speaks up, “the offense can only be talked about with the Principal. You,” the _of all people_ is silent, but it exists, settling in the air with a judgmental superiority, “know the procedures.”

“Can I tell them what I didn’t do?” Wanda bites the inside of her lip to keep from grinning at the impishness of Tommy’s loophole, this one always a troublemaker, but the way he works around Vision’s logic, or really anyone elses, is so impressive, Wanda would even say endearing, though she does not have to face it near as much as Vision, so their opinions might differ.

What is even more entertaining is the way Jody fumbles, mouth opening and closing like a fish, her hand torn between smoothing the tight knot of her hair or taking off her tortoise shell glasses. “I,” Wanda can feel the woman’s thoughts as they run through the manual for appropriate behaviors, “suppose that is allowed.”

“Alright,” Tommy rubs his hands together, foot tapping along with the whipping of his thoughts as he strategizes his explanation, “let’s see I didn’t punch someone,” this is the biggest relief, “or kick someone, or bite someone,” that was an interesting meeting. “I didn’t steal food, I didn’t make food, I didn’t start a food fight.” He pauses for half a second to think of the next list, “I didn’t talk back in class, I didn’t blow up the chemistry lab,” this one Vision questioned the teacher for allowing teenagers access to such combustible materials, but then grounded Tommy when they arrived home because he should fully understand the consequences of messing with volatile substances. “I didn’t pants anyone, though really thought about it. Um I didn’t vaporize the entire soccer field.”

“Oh,” Vision nods, quick to pick up on the implication of the list, “well at least it was not the entire field.”

Tommy nods, a hopeful grin parting his lips, “Exactly.”

The door to their left opens with a calm, but authoritative, “Mr. and Mrs. Maximoff.”

Vision stands, following Wanda as she walks into the Principal’s office, both of them taking their respective seats and staring at the sympathetic eyes of the woman across from them. Dr. Bennett, unlike the woman outside, is typically slow to blame the children, her carefully selected words and soothing voice a persuasive combination in guiding parents to agree with punishing problem behavior. This unassuming likeability, Wanda long ago decided, makes her an even more formidable foe. “So,” given the increased frequency of their meetings, there no longer seems a need for niceties or minced words, “what happened this time?”

The principal delicately opens a file on the desk, eyes skimming the unseen paper as her fingers follow along, nodding as the words force her lips to descend into a frown. “It appears,” Vision leans forward, waiting to hear the words, “Thomas vaporized one of the soccer goals during gym class.”

This is certainly a new offense. Wanda runs through all possible explanations for this happening, but comes up empty, which means she places the conversation back in the Principal’s hands. “How did he do that?”

There are very few people who can steeple their fingers in such a way as to be both casual and intimidating, typically it is reserved for the most dramatic and nefarious evil geniuses, but this woman has it down, elbows firmly planted on the desk while her fingertips partake of an innocent, gentle kiss. “From the eyewitness accounts, it seems as if he ran very very fast around it and it just,” her fingers part, hands traveling three inches from each other to mime a small explosion. “Now,” the folder is moved to the side as a much larger file is extracted from the abyss of her desk drawer, “we adore your sons and truly embrace the diversity they bring to the school.” This is the type of sentence that always proceeds a however and Wanda can feel Vision tensing beside her, these words, or some variant, having been used to describe both Wanda and Vision separately, but mostly together, a placation before condemnation. “But if they continue to be so foolhardy with their powers, we may have to discuss alternative options.”

Wanda immediately feels her body sliding into defensiveness, powers balling up deep within her chest as she tries to find the best words to suggest that perhaps the school is not nearly as inviting or understanding as they claim to be, just as the other three weren’t either. But then a quiet, deadly even question comes from her husband. “What was the impetus for his actions?”

“They were running the mile today, part of the yearly evaluation.”

The words are allowed to float down and settle into their minds before Vision continues, “Were there any peculiar instructions for the task?”

Dr. Bennett frowns, hands shuffling papers as she searches for an answer. “It seems some students said they were informed if they ran faster than their previous mile time they would win a prize.”

“Ah, that explains it, thank you.” Vision offers nothing more than that, shifting his weight so that he is leaned back in the chair, right leg coming up to cross over his left knee.

The principal sends an imploring glance to Wanda, but she can only manage a shrug. “Mr. Maximoff, I am not sure I follow.”

Wanda reaches gently into her husband’s mind and is met with an image of their old couch and suddenly it all makes sense, a wry smirk forming on her mouth as she remembers that day. “Dr. Bennett,” she does her best to match the friendly yet dismissive tone that is usually used on them when the school (or strangers, or reporters) feel they have the upper hand, “Tommy ran his first mile at his top speed and you all know how competitive he is.” The first time they were called into the office was because someone had bet Tommy he couldn’t eat the entire sheet pan of spaghetti being offered for lunch, not realizing that yes, he could, but two, it wasn’t even enough food for his increased metabolism. “So this time he went faster, it’s just, he hasn’t quite figured out how to balance speed with the consequences.”

“He once vaporized our couch trying to show us how fast he could run.”

Their joint explanation doesn’t seem to affect anything, the principal now staring at them with a detached sense of horror and curiosity. “I see. Well as I stated, he needs to control his powers and impulsivity better.”

“We agree,” Vision’s words stop the rest of the soliloquy they get each time an incident involves the boys’ powers, “but, as you have very astutely communicated in prior meetings, the school should not be held responsible for teaching this to them.”

Wanda jumps in, hand descending lovingly on Vision’s forearm and giving it a light squeeze, “That’s our job.”

Dr. Bennett’s eyes narrow as her lips tighten into a thin line, “I concur, but there should still be punishment at school for such behaviors.”

“How about he gets a warning this time and if it happens again then you can determine what’s best?” Which has been their go-to resolution for every behavior, and it works, sort of, Tommy rarely is called to the office for a repeat offense, though he is very good at finding new offenses. “And we will pay for a new soccer goal.”

Her acceptance is slow and drawn out, the three syllables occupying the same space as a full, meandering sentence, “Very well.”

Before they leave the room, the principal shakes their hands with a flurry of politely strained _have a good days_. On their way out of the main office, Wanda wraps Tommy’s wrist in a tendril of scarlet, pulling him out of the chair and into the hallway, just out of view of the glass windows. “You do that again and we won’t save you.”

The cheeky, pseudo-innocent smile erupting on his face reminds her so much of Pietro, which only solidifies what she suspected, Tommy knew exactly what he was doing. “Won’t vaporize a soccer goal again, promise.”

Vision remains a stoic statue, but Wanda can feel the slightly annoyed sigh of his mind as he speaks, “Perhaps we should rephrase that.”

“I won’t vaporize anything at school again?”

“Much better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments always appreciated.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	2. Curfew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda and Vision wait up for the twins to come back from an unofficial mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from deathofink: How do you see Wanda and Vision reacting to Billy and Tommy sneaking off to be Superheroes while they're still just teenagers? I can just see Wanda waiting for them by lamp light when they think they've snuck back without anyone suspecting.
> 
> This one was so much fun, hope you all enjoy!

He pours the boiling water carefully into the cast iron kettle, the instant whiff of mint giving way to the pleasing tease of orange. “Tea will be ready in approximately 7 minutes.” Wanda doesn’t respond, eyes focused on the front door, lips set in a harsh, unforgiving scowl and her body is seated in the chair in such a way as to suggest she’s comfortable but whomever is about to speak with her won’t be. Vision draws a patient inhale through his nostrils, releasing it with a slight parting of his lips, and takes his residence in the chair next to her. “I am uncertain this is the optimal approach for the cessation of their behavior.”

Her body remains still, a statue of hardened resolution, but her eyes do slide to the side to share her unimpressed expression. “Can you think of a better way?”

“I-“ Vision thinks back to his subtle attempts already, carefully placed comments in conversations about how he is so happy his own children do not give in to the stereotypic rebellious pattern (the boys gave him nervous smiles here), or about how the first mission as an Avenger is so meaningful because it is the first interaction with foes (this usually makes them stare intently at their food). Yet they persist. “No.” But he still finds his fingers tangling nervously in his lap, the stare on Wanda’s face one that is always enough to crumble his resolve and logical thinking, creating a feeling akin to being cornered by a wily hunter, and he is not even the recipient of the stare this evening. “You know, it seems their behavior might simply be indicative of a confluence of our own personalities.”

Wanda’s eyebrows join her dubious side eye. “Now you’re just desperate, Maximoff.”

“No,” his fingers untangle, hands lifting to gesticulate his nerves as he proceeds with a half-formed idea of absolutely certain failure. “If you recall we took part in many clandestine rendezvous after the Accords.”

The arch of her eyebrows heightens in a twitch of shock before descending back to her original scowl. “I’d prefer them sneaking off for that instead of what they’re doing.” A pause and her admission is qualified, “But they’d still get in trouble for it.”

Per his wife’s request, he increased the sensitivity of his auditory receptors, tuning them specifically to the frequencies of their sons’ voices. The jocular and uninhibited way they are talking to each other as they walk up the stone path to the house indicates their ignorance to the danger lurking inside. “They are home.”

The lights in the kitchen and the lamp next to Wanda shut off, a snaking trail of red even dimming the Mindstone. When the door opens, Vision finds himself tensing in sympathy. Billy is clearly aware of the potential danger, his voice barely a whisper, his “Shut up,” attempting to wrangle Tommy’s exuberant boasting of how someone didn’t see him coming at the denouement of their outing.

Vision is aware of the plan, but the effect is far more bone chilling than he expected. A flicker of scarlet weaves between Wanda’s fingers, illuminating the seriousness of her eyes while also casting malevolent shadows on her face, and then it erupts into a flame, her voice loud and authoritative, “Boys.”

A “shit” escapes Tommy’s mouth (an offense they will have to speak about tomorrow, his language becoming more colorful by the day) at the same time Billy’s eyes widen and the confidence of his stature crumples. “Um,” the two glance at each other, Tommy shrugging before morphing his fear into a pseudo-swagger of nonchalance. “Billy, I told you we should have left the soup kitchen earlier.” Vision has to give credit to Tommy’s ability to always be quick and sometimes convincing (though not on this occasion) in channeling the blame to his brother. “But you had to insist we serve every last hungry child before leaving.”

Wanda is not amused at the explanation, replying with a curt and ominous, “We know where you were.”

This demolishes Tommy’s feigned confidence, his eyes darting between his brother and the stairs, a behavior he has utilized since he was five years old and that blatantly displays his intent. Vision phases down through the chair, flies along the beams of the basement ceiling, and materializes at the top of the stairs, body solidifying at its densest, just in time to take the brunt of Tommy’s superhuman speed. “Ow.”

Vision crosses his arms at the betrayal in his son’s eyes, “Back downstairs, Thomas.”

Briefly, and stupidly, Tommy seems to consider challenging him, but a tendril of scarlet wrapping around his wrist convinces him to follow the order. Though he does not do so without some reiteration of his inculpability, “It wasn’t even my idea.” The truth of which is questionable, at best.

“Downstairs.”

“Fine.”

Wanda directs the conversation once they are all in their original places. “You’re grounded for three weeks.”

Their “What?!” is in unison, but it’s Billy this time that pushes back. “We were just helping people, that’s what Avengers do.”

As soon as they saw the fight on the news, Wanda and Vision had talked through all the possible rationalizations the boys would utilize, primarily based on their previous disobedience of the no vigilante rule that is a foundation of the Maximoff household, and concocted responses for each excuse. Vision nods in empathetic understanding before razing the explanation. “You are part of the Young Avengers Initiative,” a point all of them can accept without dissidence, “as part of that program you both, as well as your mother and I, signed a contract explicitly prohibiting partaking of unauthorized missions.”

Tommy frowns, body trembling slightly, his atoms never willing to remain still for long, particularly when he is emotional. “But we couldn’t just let crime happen. That’s against the,” he dips deep into his memory to pull out Vision’s own words to use against him, “moral fibers that construct the foundation of being an Avenger.”

Thankfully this argument was assigned to Wanda as Vision can feel his resolve weaken slightly in the severity of their punishment. “That would be okay reasoning,” she pauses in order to emphasize the qualifier, “not great or unpunishable, just okay, if you hadn’t snuck out to take down a drug lord.”

The fact they are aware of the specific nature of the prohibited actions catches the twins by surprise, their eyes frantically meeting as they dare the other to respond. Tommy eventually turns to them with a weak and wholly unconvincing, “It was a robbery…”

“It was on the news.” As planned, Vision turns on the television, the news story paused at the three minute mark so that when he hits play Tommy runs into the frame with a  _You didn’t see that coming!_

“It was Billy’s idea.”

“Hey.”

Wanda finally smirks, the harsh mask falling away as they bicker over who is most at fault, somehow believing it will change one of their punishments. “Boys,” the argument stops, an infinitesimal hope in their eyes at her softened tone, “you’re both capable of independent thought. So you both are grounded for three weeks.”

When neither fight back, clearly accepting their fate (for now), Vision moves to part two of the itinerary for the evening. “I have tea on the stove, if you wish to inform us of your heroic escapades.”

The boys exchange confused glances, their pleading eyes rising to Wanda in unison. “We watched the videos,” she stands, her calm steps into the kitchen acting as a guide, Billy and Tommy reluctantly following, “and thought you could use some feedback.”

Uncertainty still mars their faces as they sit down, Vision placing steaming mugs in front of everyone before joining them, his hands folding together on top of the table. “Without further chance of punishment,” the words work as intended, calming the atmosphere of the room, “please tell us everything.”

One more glance between the boys and a synchronized shrug leads into a late, yet eventful night around the kitchen table at the Maximoff household.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


	3. A Lesson in Teamwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night of observing the Young Avengers turns into a strategy lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from anonymous: scarlet visions meeting the rest of the young avengers?
> 
> This one is quite a bit outside of my comfort zone as I do not write anything Young Avengers. Side note: I did not include Vision/Jonas because I really have no firm idea how he would come to exist if the twins were always Wanda and Vision's. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

“What do you think?”

Vision shifts his hips as he leans forward, heels tapping the side of the building they are sitting atop as he considers his wife’s question. The skirmish below has been persisting for almost twenty three and a half minutes, a time that is not unacceptable, per se, but also not impressive given the opponent is a low level necromancer with a small contingent of undead henchmen. He and Wanda could dispense of such foes in less than five minutes and forty five seconds (as the most conservative estimate) and that includes at least three brushes of his hand along Wanda’s back and one lost-in-the-moment kiss (they’re signature move, or so they have been informed). “They are a bit,” the sheer variety of flashing colors due to the powerful attacks is disorienting from up here, so he imagines it is far worse on the ground, which could be contributing to the overall fight, “discombobulated.”

“Yeah, they aren’t working together, like,” Wanda releases her grip on the thermos of hot chocolate, the air this high frigid, only part of the reason they are snuggled close, his cape and arm wrapped around her, and points a finger at the fight, “Tommy keeps breaking from the group to run, he knows better than that.”

A habit their son has been quite insistent on not breaking, even with various lessons of teamwork in the backyard. “I believe that could be slightly contributed to Billy working closely with,” the roster for the Young Avenger Initiative streams through his mind until he lands on the correct face, “Hulkling, perhaps Tommy is unable to apply our lessons to a group of three.”

“Billy does seem very comfortable with Teddy.” Her voice is identical to the way both Tony and Natasha would talk to him about Wanda, a long long time ago.

“I believe you set the rule we could not insinuate his relationship until he expressly informs us.”

Wanda bumps his shoulder, an action that requires barely any movement to be effective given their close proximity, “I don’t think they can hear us up here.” The hot chocolate hovers to her lips as they watch the continued attacks below, each action and movement unhelpfully independent from the others in the team. “Oh, Cassie’s growing.”

Stature, or so her file indicates is her preferred hero name, is gigantic yet again, but Vision cannot tell if the growth is strategic and purposeful or part of every hero’s experimentation (Wanda calls it a guessing game) with their newfound abilities. “Hawkeye has broken another window.”

“So when do we step in?”

Vision finds his shoulders rising and falling of their own accord as he runs through Captain Rogers’ instructions. “We were told to only intervene if there is a teachable moment, otherwise we must remain purely observational.”

“Well I’d say not working as a team is teachable,” something Vision wholeheartedly concurs with, “just have to wait for Nate to re-materialize from wherever he went.”

Iron Lad’s file is the densest of the group, a dizzying yet enjoyable puzzle Vision spent the afternoon studying, yet he still shares Wanda’s exasperation at watching the young man flicker and weave in and out of the fight. “How shall we proceed, once he returns?”

The thermos hovers again as her eyes squint, lips pursing in contemplation and the sight fills him with a comfortable, familiar warmth. “I say we go with a shield drop and then,” Wanda hums a little as she continues to watch the melee, body wiggling slightly while she cycles through the available attack patterns, “I’ll do a Scarlet burst while you take out the henchmen and we end with a Poltergeist.”

Her plan would certainly eliminate the threat, but, “That is quite dramatic.”

Wanda shrugs at this, “They’re more likely to remember something showy.”

A tactic they have occasionally fallen back on when training the boys, particularly for dull and repetitive drills. If they can demonstrate how the skill might lead to a full powered application, then the repetitiveness is suddenly deemed worthwhile. “Very well. Nathaniel is back.”

Vision stands first, hand reaching down to help Wanda up, her powers rearranging their observation tools into neat piles they can easily retrieve afterwards. Once Wanda is ready she turns towards him, the giddy grin on her face one she flashes him anytime they’re about to, in her words, kick some serious ass. She steps towards him, their bodies flush, a requirement of the maneuver, and her hands trace the vibranium clasp of his cape, “Remember, Maximoff, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

He wraps his arms around her waist, bending to place a kiss to her lips that accompanies his whispered promise, “I will be gentle.”

A synchronized, centering inhale and they exhale while stepping off the edge of the building, a scarlet concave shield forming underneath their feet, helping to even out the rush of air billowing his cape and her hair upwards. One minor turn of their bodies realigns them closer to the villain and that’s when he increases his density to speed up their descent, Wanda’s powers flowing more steadily in preparation of landing, and then, right at the last second, Vision goes incorporeal, depositing Wanda in a bubble of pulsating red on the ground as he phases through the cement. Based on visual data from their reconnaissance on the roof, he emerges precisely four feet from Wanda, hands phasing into the undead henchman within a millisecond of reappearing. In his periphery, as he phases and dismantles the lackeys, he can see the mesmerizing crackle of scarlet in the air and its reflection on the building, a technique meant to disorient a foe (and sometimes him, if he is not careful). Vision also intercepts chatter via his auditory processor some _Wows_ a _holy shit_ and then, a smile forming on his face at once again embarrassing his children, a plaintive and annoyed _seriously_ from Billy and an unfortunate expletive from Tommy (which means yet one more lecture on language and perhaps mentioning the continued issue with Steve).

The density shifting assault continues until Wanda’s powers grow into an overwhelming frenzy, a long established cue for the next phase of the attack, the last henchman crumbling to the ground as Vision hovers, bringing his body horizontal and parallel to the ground. He flies directly towards his wife, phasing just as he reaches her, her body shivering at his passing through, and then he bursts from the cloud of scarlet, advancing on the necromancer and solidifying his body just in time to deliver a blow to the man’s chest, sending him backwards onto the ground. Scarlet ropes tether the man to the cement, Wanda sauntering up next to Vision, her hand dipping below his cape for a congratulatory squeeze, which kickstarts his body into an operantly conditioned response of turning towards his wife, his fingers tangling in her hair as he breathes in her essence, their mouths meeting and the world simply falling away.

Tommy’s irritated, “What are you doing here?” forces them to remember that they are here for a purpose.

A slow, easy step backwards angles Vision’s body towards the teens, their faces familiar from the files, their attributes and personalities clear in his head based on the stories the boys tell, but this is the first time meeting the members of the initiative. Half of them stand with arms crossed and perturbed stares, while the others form a spectrum from amused to curious to horrified (Billy, in this instance). “Captain Rogers assigned Wanda and myself to supervise your mission.”

Iron Lad, one of the arms-crossed cohort, and, from Vision’s understanding, the de facto leader, wades into the conversation. “Last I checked supervising’s not the same as intervening.”

“You are correct.”

Wanda’s hand brushes his shoulder, a tight smile on her face lets Vision know she wishes to handle the issue, and so he stops talking, acquiescing to her desire with a small nod. “We also had orders to step in if we felt you weren’t performing at your best.” She shrugs, it’s small, indifferent, but that is not the same as meek, the dismissive and authoritative tone of her voice setting the young heroes up to challenge her at their own risk, “You were nowhere near your best.”

The comment incites many displeased glares, a muttered _bullshit_ from someone that better not have been Tommy, yet none of the young heroes immediately counter back. In the two second silence, Vision determines to utilize a softer approach meant to harmonize Wanda’s bluntness, a, as he has heard in the common lexicon, good-cop, bad-cop paradigm. “Why were,” Vision realizes they had not determined what to go by in the presence of Billy and Tommy’s compatriots, whether they remain causal with first names, go formal with Mr. and Mrs. Maximoff, or if they utilize hero names, for which his is no different than the casual but Wanda has some social distance. He determines to remain undecided and rely on pronouns and hand gestures to clarify the subjects of his sentence, “we able to subdue the foe far quicker than you?”

Cassie shrugs, gloved hand flinging out to the side to emphasize the obviousness of the response, “Because you’ve been heroes forever.”

A fair statement but not specific enough, so Vision tries the question from a more direct angle, “Though true, that is not sufficient to justify how we eliminated the threat in three minutes and thirty four seconds and you were unable to do so in the twenty eight minutes and fifty six seconds before our intervention.” The information might have a greater impact on them than Wanda’s prior words, if the increased gloom on their faces is an indication. “What actions did we take that differed from your own and thus contributed to our efficiency?”

“Listen,” Kate - or Hawkeye, as she has been passed the mantle from Clint, a surprise to everyone that it was not one of his own children to carry on the name (though that was a relief to Laura) - points her bow first at Vision and Wanda, “if I have to make-out with them,” the bow sweeps to the right to indicate the rest of the team, “to win a fight, I’m out.”

Sniggers follow her sardonic response, though Billy seems to be blanching at the turn in conversation, and then Cassie throws an arm over the archer’s shoulder, “You know I’m the best choice.”

“That,” Vision glances at Wanda, receiving an unhelpful shrug as the teens in front of them begin arguing over who would be the ideal makeout partner to end a fight, “that is not the,” the thing with having twin boys is that there is always arguing over which, sometimes, unfortunately, one must raise a voice to get attention back. What Vision failed to consider is the amplification of distracted chatter that would occur with numerous individuals of this age. “Wanda?”

A scarlet spark erupts in the middle of the group with a, “Pay attention.” The only two that look somewhat remorseful are Hulkling and Iron Lad, but at least the rest are quiet, mostly. “Making out has only ever won us three, maybe four fights. Plus,” a warning rings in her voice as Wanda moves her gaze across each of their faces, “only consensual making out during and after fights.”

“I-” Vision nods, trying to follow-up the comment but insteads cycles back to the original, “Yes, thank you. What tactical difference was there between your fight and ours?”

Being an Avenger has been Vision’s full-time job from his creation, one he has considered leaving, on occasion, but can never fully commit to such an enormous change. In this moment, with the silence thickening as elongated seconds pass and the group in front of him all seem interested in everything but him, he determines being a teacher is not in his future, his fingers growing antsy at the continued hush. But then Teddy meets his eyes, an unsure but hopeful smirk on his face as he raises his hand, “Yes, Hulkling?”

“Um, well, Vis- Mr. Maximoff?” At least he is not alone in his uncertainty of names, “Maybe we could have been more,” he lifts his hands, starting them far apart and swooping them until they meet, fingers clasped, “together in our attacks?”

Wanda sends them all a beaming, proud smile, “Yes, your teamwork and cohesiveness needs a lot of work.” Her arm loops through Vision’s, tugging him towards her until their sides are touching, “We trained over and over and over again on coordinated attacks, studied each others powers-”

A quiet, “And mouths,” comes from the archer but Wanda keeps moving without acknowledgement.

“It is rare that one person alone eliminates a threat.” She pauses, emphasizing the fact. “Figure out how to be a unit and you won’t have to be saved by us again.”

The words may sink in, they may not, none of the individuals in front of them betray their thoughts, until Iron Lad nods, lips arching downwards in thought. “I think we,” he turns to his teammates, “should go work on that.”

A chorus of sures and okays go along with the decision as the group starts to leave, Billy and Tommy hanging back, clearly torn between what to do, though Vision is not certain why. “So,” Billy interlaces his fingers while he haltingly proceeds with his thought, “can we go or do we have, you know, curfew?”

“I believe in this instance,” Vision mentally confirms his answer with Wanda before offering it to the boys, “you may be home later than usual.”

“Awesome.”

Once the boys are gone, the necromancer deposited safely in a containment cell awaiting a meeting with a judge in the morning, and they are back home, snuggled on the couch, Wanda nodding off on his chest as his hands work through her hair, he finally reaches a decision he had been waiting to make until he’d been able to process the evening. “They seem an admirable group.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments always appreciated. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed and have a wonderful day.


	4. Family Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A family tree assignment uncovers the darker threads of the Maximoff ancestry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short drabble based on an ask/comment from deathofink on Tumblr: You gotta admit, it's kinda cool that Tommy and William have an advanced Robot for a Grandfather....just a shame about his homicidal "I'm gonna kill all Humans" mindset - not exactly a relation you can brag about at school.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Vision rotates his stare between the paper on the table, the barely contained mirth on Wanda’s face, and the exuberant, glitter and glue covered hands of their boys. “What-“

“It’s for homework, dad.”

Billy’s gentle explanation isn’t illuminating the background of the question Vision came home to, his confusion not helped by the endless data from the mission debriefing streaming through his mind. “What was the question?”

The deep, impatient eye roll from Tommy has to be a genetically obtained trait from Wanda. “Does Ultron count as our grandpa?”

Desperation leaks into his fingers as Vision turns pleading eyes to Wanda for some sort of clarification, the familial ties to a homicidal robot not something they’ve really discussed with each other or the boys. “It’s a family tree,” scarlet pries the paper from the newspaper protecting the table, the glittery leaves lining admirably squiggled branches that link various pictures. At the bottom are one inch squares with Billy and Tommy’s school pictures from the year before. Above them are the smiling faces of Wanda and himself, an image from their honeymoon that has thankfully been carefully cropped to not show the embarrassing speedo. The branches on Wanda’s side are mostly complete, names filling in all the spaces except Pietro’s, the only relation she has a picture of still. On Vision’s half it looks much different, not nearly as many connectors to show blood or marital relations and, likely quite unique to this family tree, there are five circles of parentage for him, filled in with the beaming faces of Tony, Bruce, Thor, Helen, and an empty spot supposedly for Ultron.

Given the inclusion of the others, the answer regrettably seems clear. “I guess he would technically be your grandfather.”

A “cool!” rises excitedly from Tommy as he helps Billy glue an already prepped picture of Ultron.

“Dad?”

Vision tears his eyes from the convoluted tree to look at Billy’s deeply contemplative scrunched face. “Yes, William?”

The boy holds the tree up, pointing as he asks his question, “Does that mean Tony is also our great grandpa?”

“I-“ Wanda’s chuckle cuts him off, her glee at this new revelation endearing, concerning given she is already texting Tony to no doubt inform him, but her joy relaxes him enough to laugh at the lunacy of it all. “I suppose so.”

 

What Vision wasn’t aware of when they were constructing their tree, was that all the kids had to present it, their parents shoved into the back of the room in chairs meant for adolescents and not bulky superheroes. Each child takes their turn, proudly sharing their ancestors, and as the line gets shorter and the boys get closer to the front, Vision’s heart beats faster. A hand wraps around his bicep, grip tightening and loosening in time to his breathing. “Calm down, Vizh.” Wanda winks at him, briefly eschewing his discomfort, “It’ll be fine, not like they don’t know we’re different.”

“Thank you.”

This calm doesn’t last long, the instant Billy and Tommy pin their tree to the easel, Vision becomes keenly aware of the increased interest and murmuring of the parents around them. “The Maximoff tree!” Tommy flourishes his arms, eliciting laughter from the kids and a glare from the teacher, this one very prone to sending him to the principal. Billy walks everyone through the tree, highlighting the culture of Sokovia they try to maintain and glancing over the Avengers as best he can without bragging. But then Tommy pinches his brother too quickly for anyone else to likely see, though both Vision and Wanda know the signs of foul play. He uses this distraction to take over, “And this,” he points to the picture of Ultron, “is our Grandpa Ultron.” His features get terrifyingly serious before an even more unsettling wicked smile crawls along his lips, “He’s an advanced robot with homee-“ the teacher’s face is already upset and Wanda’s hands are beginning to seep red, “homicidal tendencies, so,” Tommy points his finger at his classmates and the parents, “watch out.”

Wanda sags against Vision, face burying in his sweater as she groans. It’s been a record of eight days since they last saw the principal and it seems their streak is over


	5. Another Matter of Principal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda and Vision have to meet with the principal again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on an ask by deathofink: Considering how many times Thomas gets called to detention, it would probably come as a huge shock to their parents if William was the one they had to come talk about.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

  
Wanda steps a foot back, arms held up and steady as her fingers weave a scarlet net to contain a cluster of the floating blobs - or, as Scott has lovingly named them, Snot Aliens. Slowly she hovers the imprisoned beings towards the containment unit Stark finally set up, inching the aliens closer while ensuring she is out of range in case they drop to the ground. She’s already seen almost all of her teammates fall prey to the fatal error of directly engaging with these things, Steve’s shield is still stuck to the ground with an, as Vision explained, impressively structured natural adhesive compound. Wanda figures she has paid her penance in the realm of encountering mucous, raising twin boys who caught every single cold that was passed at daycare, school, between friends, and even just people passing on the street, and instead of blowing their noses (kleenex were a sure way to cause a tantrum), the boys would find ways to wipe it on her. The net tightens with a scrunch of her fingers, only two more feet before she can let go.

A buzzing fills her ear, not the typical two note burst that indicates someone on the team is about to talk, but a constant, unwelcome ringing. Wanda straightens her pinky enough to send a flash of red to accept the call. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Maximoff,” the voice is perky, the polite smile clear in the hyperactive spewing of her name, “this is Jody from the Principal’s office.”

One hand pulls away from holding the aliens long enough to rub her face in exasperation, Jody is never who she wants to find on the other end and yet even her phone recognizes the frequency of their conversations enough to label Jody as a favorite in the contacts. Wanda tries to imbue her response with friendliness while also hoping the woman can pick up on the fact it is not a good time. “Hi Jody, everything okay?”

“We have your son at the office,” it’s an innocuous enough statement, minus the judgmental harshness of the unspoken _again_.

Wanda glances at the scarlet net and then at the numerous official news cameras and the even more multitudinous amateur videographers filming the entire attack. “Can we come in some other time, we’re a bit,” one of the aliens starts to ooze through the net, a sickening sight that will haunt her dreams for the week, “busy right now.”

A well-oiled sigh, one that has likely taken years to perfect, judges her through the communicator, “At the Academy we truly believe the children are the pinnacle of existence, no one should ever be too busy for their child.”

Which is a statement that, though true on the face of it, really doesn’t apply, in Wanda’s opinion, to dropping a net full of noxious Snot Aliens just to be lectured for a sixth time on why Tommy is apparently doomed to fail in life because he wore the wrong khakis.“Have you seen the news?”

“I have a job to do, Mrs. Maximoff.”

The correct answer here is that Wanda also has a job, a very interesting one that is also important and that some things can wait, yet she gives in, not wanting to risk losing their spots at the one school so far that the boys seem to mostly enjoy. “Fine, we’ll be there shortly.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Maximoff.”

The line dies in her ear and Wanda shakes her head, wrists snapping flippantly as she tosses the aliens towards the containment unit, ignoring the _Watch it!_ from Tony, and finds her husband, who is currently flickering in and out of existence. “Maximoff?”

His body solidifies long enough to showcase a sheepish roundness to his eyes and the neon green patch of slime that covers the entirety of his chest. “Wanda?” The phasing resumes, likely his foolhardy attempt to get the substance off of him.

“Jody called.”

Vision stops, head cocked to the side as his cape floats regally down behind him, “Tommy?”

“I assume so.”

His shoulders cave and he might, though it could just be a trick of the shadows caused by the buildings, rolls his eyes. “What is it this time?”

Wanda shrugs, “She didn’t say.” Her hand sneaks between his arm and torso, coming to rest on the inside of his elbow, careful to stay away from the slime, and tugs him into action, “Let’s just get this over with.”

 

 

The hallways are empty as they follow the memorized path, their feet moving automatically as their hands take turns gesticulating their concerns. “I believe we need to rethink our forms of punishment.”

Wanda agrees, the continued disobedience at school an undeniable signal that Tommy isn’t learning much from their lectures and grounding. “I don’t even know what else is left, Vizh.”

“I believe you do.” A reluctant, grave foreboding drips from his sentence and she immediately knows the next logical step, one they’ve tiptoed towards but can never seem to justify actually going that far, particularly because the offenses are usually so small. Vision, if she tried to argue that now, would point out that, though small, the conglomeration of all the offenses is actually enormous, especially if they look beyond just this school and at the others, some of Tommy’s behaviors the impetus for them no longer welcomed at those institutions.

Regardless of the rationale, Wanda can’t bring herself to agree. “The Young Avengers is literally the only thing that keeps him somewhat manageable.” The number of offenses and backtalk at home have greatly decreased in the time the Young Avengers Initiative has been active, and the peace from that is hard to willinging give up. “It could lead to worse behavior.”

“Or,” Vision draws it out, allowing her to interpret his disagreement before directly going against her, “it could show him that he needs to act in accordance to certain standards if he wants to be part of it.” A hand to her arm stops her right before they reach the glass walls of the office, turning her to face his sympathetic, swirling eyes. “We cannot always protect him from himself, at some point we have to let him face the full consequences.”

It was easy to shrug off this statement three years ago, five years ago, and especially twelve, when they were still just rambunctious toddlers, yet the closer the reality of them becoming adults, of forging their own paths in the world gets, the greater the panic that rises in Wanda. She knows they’ll be fine, both are strong (and strong-headed), fiercely independent, compassionate boys, but they are still her boys and she isn’t sure she’ll ever let go of needing to protect them. Neither will Vision, based on his confessions in the middle of the night whenever the twins are out on a mission, or the way she has to talk him down from following along and watching them or from immediately correcting them on all of their social mishaps. “Let’s just see what it is this time, okay?”

“That is reasonable.” Vision leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, an understanding smile on his face when he pulls back. “Should I change?”

They’re both still in uniform, the after effects of the battle untouched. “No,” Wanda doesn’t have the luxury of phasing into new clothes and has no desire to be singled out even more by Vision changing, “they think we don’t work, so let them experience it,” she pats his shoulder, steering clear of the gunk still clinging to his chest, “nasty smell and all.”

“Shall we?”

Wanda leads the way, opening the door with a forced smile at Jody before turning towards the chair with a, “Tommy what did–” except the face she meets doesn’t have the cocky I-can-get-away-with-anything grin nor is his hair white or his feet and hands tapping with pent up energy. No, instead she is staring into terrified, ashamed doe-like eyes, “Billy?”

“Um,” he swallows, fingers lacing together in nervousness, mirroring the exact grasp Vision uses when faced with something overwhelming and incomprehensible. “Hi mom, dad.”

“Will-” her husband stutters out the name, which makes her feel better to not be alone in this shock, “William, what is wrong?”

A curt, invasive “Ahem,” comes from the woman barricaded behind the sleek lines of the oak and glass desk, “You know the rules.” Jody follows it up with a cheerily malevolent smile, “I’ll buzz Dr. Bennett to let her know you’re finally here.”

The wait is just over five minutes before the door opens, a promising sign given Vision has provided graphs tracking the data of these visits, analyzing it to confirm a significantly positive correlation between the severity of the offense and the time they have to wait before seeing the principal. Wanda turns towards Billy, who is still wilting in his chair, trying to keep her voice sympathetic but also firm, “We’ll be back.”

Vision places his hand on Wanda’s lower back as she enters the office in front of him, their bodies easing into the familiar and uncomfortable chairs where they will encounter unwarranted levels of scrutiny from the vaguely concerned face across from them. “Dr. Bennett.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Maximoff,” the woman scrunches her nose, hand rising delicately to her face in disgust, “What is that smell?”

Wanda holds in her snigger at the flare of humiliation from her husband’s mind, his body squirming slightly under the disgusted gaze of the Principal. “I am,” he coughs, eyes turning to Wanda for help but she just smiles, hand patting his arm. “My apologies, we were battling lifeforms today with a very different chemical composition, one that is quite unappealing to our own senses. I-” Dr. Bennett’s face only becomes more troubled the longer the explanation lasts, “could not get the residue off.”

“I see,” her attention turns away from the smell and to the papers on her desk, ones that are always splayed out just enough to require her to sift them back together with three precise taps to the desk. “I’m happy to let you know that William has already accepted his actions and the required afternoon of detention.”

This is not usually how their talks with her go. “Then why are we here?”

“Because, Mrs. Maximoff,” the now aligned stack of papers is laid gingerly on the desk where the woman steeples her fingers over them, “we believe it is vital to apprise parents of misbehavior in person and in a timely manner. From our experience, even the most well-intentioned students do not convey the full truth if we allow them to be the messenger.”

Vision tenses beside her, never comfortable with the roundabout, deeply layered insinuations people insist on issuing in meetings, far preferring straightforward approaches. “We understand, what precisely did he do?”

A single paper is moved from the stack on the desk as the reads off of it, “Truancy during the lunch period.”

This isn’t what Wanda expected, nor did Vision, if his confused side stare towards her is an indication. “Did he say why he left?”

“The teacher who reported it said she saw him get into a car with another young gentleman and then not return until the end of the lunch period.” Dr. Bennett’s face informs them that this offense is just as severe as the soccer goal Tommy vaporized the other month. “We have very strict rules concerning students remaining on the campus during the school day.”

“I see,” Wanda doesn’t doubt the actions, her own suspicions quite strong on the motivation, and she most certainly has no desire to remain in the office since Billy already agreed to the punishment. “Thank you for letting us know.” She stands, a movement instantly mimicked by Vision and the principal, “have a good day.”

A wave of her hand encourages Vision out of the office, a long, unwavering stare at Billy let’s him know to follow them, and then Wanda leads the two men to a small alcove. She turns to Billy, the crossing of her arms causing him to shrink in stature just a bit more. “So how’s Teddy?”

Vision’s surprise is palpable and adorably naive, particularly from a man who turned off his communicator to sneak away with Wanda. Billy’s surprise is feigned, nervous and instantly shifts into a weak defensiveness. “You know it’s ridiculous we aren’t allowed to leave at lunch. I was back on time.”

“There are rules though,” the thing about being a parent is that even when you agree with your child’s rationale, sometimes you have to recognize that your agreement is not as important as the lesson. “You could just wait until after school.”

Billy nods, eyes not quite meeting hers, “Yeah, but he had a flex day and-“

“Being in a relationship,” Vision’s intrusion quiets the explanation, his face set in an empathetic softness, “is very exciting, especially at the onset. But it is imperative to learn when it is appropriate to embrace that excitement and when you can delay the gratification until a better time.”

“I’m sorry, won’t happen again.” Vision smiles, proud of figuring out how to handle the situation, Billy far more receptive to his logic than Tommy. This however tends to blind him to the fact that Billy still has a lot of Wanda too, the grin inching up his face a trademark Maximoff I’m-about-to-sass-you-with-my-defiance look. “You do know there are entire blogs dedicated to all the times you and mom make out during missions, right?”

“I-“ if flustered Vision wasn’t so damn cute, Wanda would counter back, but watching him flounder in the face of resistance is quality entertainment. “I um, there are?”

Billy nods, torn between enthusiasm and disdain, “Cassie likes to send them to us.”

“I see.”

“Let’s just agree for now,” Wanda does her best to contain her amusement at watching the two of them, “that context matters and in this context the school has rules that should be followed so you can deal with their punishment and we’ll call it good.”

Billy sighs, resigned to the illogic of the moment, “Fine.” The lesson presumably learned (or at least accepted for now), Wanda laces her arm through Vision’s, about to say goodbye until Billy sniffs three times, “Dad, you smell worse than Tommy’s socks.”

Vision’s body sinks in her grasp, an exasperated, “I am aware” dispelling any last defiance or negative feelings from their talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 4th to my fellow U.S. readers! To my non-U.S. readers - happy Wednesday! I hope everyone has a fabulous day :)


	6. Truancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy and Billy sneak away from a field trip to tour Stark Industries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the ask by deathofink: Do you think Tommy and Billy would ever given a tour of Stark Industries? I mean their Dad did technically help run it in a previous life.
> 
> I don’t think this is what you were looking for, but it is the first thing that came to my mind after reading your ask. I do apologize if the characterization isn’t awesome, I don’t usually write from either of the twin’s perspectives but it was the only way to do this story . 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“And now we move into what many consider the true heart of the tour,” a peppy smile goes with a peppy wave of her arms and the impressively uniformed pep in the tour guide’s step, “the hall of heroes.”

“Kill me now,” Tommy groans next to him, mood perpetually spiraling downward for the last hour, “please just blink me out of this reality.”

The field trip isn’t that bad. Well, it’s not great, but it could be worse, like the time they went to the wastewater plant and there was a leak. “This is the last room.” It is also, admittedly, the worst room to be in as children of Avengers. Being in a shrine devoted to worshipping your parents and family while surrounded by peers that already view you differently kind of sucks.

“We’re at Stark Industries,” Billy waits for his brother to make some sort of point, shrugging off the aggravation in his voice and inspecting the first generation uniforms of their parents. The plaque has an asterisk that leads the eye down to a note stating all uniforms on display are originals, graciously donated by the heroes except for The Vision’s (Billy frowns at the unneeded The) which is a replica due to the still unexplained power he has to shift molecules.

Tommy begrudgingly joins in staring at the uniforms, “This crap is not what we should be seeing. We’re not fucking tourists.”

“Language.”  

Dad has been trying, and failing miserably, to curb impolite language, so when he is not around, Billy takes joy in turn-coating his allegiance and policing it. “Oh bugger off, traitor.” They both laugh at the loophole they discovered early on. If dad doesn’t realize they’re cussing, then they can do it freely, until mom stares them down, anyway. “I’m serious, I want to see the top secret stuff, not,” he flings his hands out at the post-Thanos uniforms, “this.”

They’ve listened to their grandpa wax poetically about his innovations, sat dumbfounded at the technical questions from both their dad and their other science minded relatives. There is so much more than old Iron Man uniforms and the ten different shields good ole Captain America has used to protect freedom. “Mom and dad are meeting us at the end, we could just ask-“

Tommy recoils at the comment, side-eying him the same way you would a person espousing mind control through frozen corn kernels on the street corner (though that actually ended up partially correct and led to a few months without corn in the house and deep, empty looks on their parents’ faces). “You trying to steal the funkiller crown from dad?” Hands turn Billy toward a small, gray door with a white and red sign stating  _Authorized Personnel Only_. “You know the good stuff is back there.”

“No,” even if they can easily distract the chaperones and slip away from their classmates, it’s not worth it. “In less than a day, I get to go with Teddy on a houseboat.”

Tommy’s unempathetic stare is typical when matters of his relationship come up, “And…?”

“And I’m not risking it.”

Billy moves on to the current day display (all replicas), fingers tapping through the buttons on a screen introducing him to the training rooms and the Stark tech that is changing not just the world but universes too. Unfortunately the twin devil on his shoulder follows. “We won’t get caught.”

“We get caught 91.35% of the time,” a stat so graciously computed by dad three weeks ago when Tommy ran (literally) out and got them Taco Bell for lunch and then proceeded to proudly eat his chalupa in front of the teacher monitoring the lunchroom.

A scoff signals this fight is nowhere near done, “One, even dad admits his computation is flawed,” a margin of error assumed of plus or minus five percent for instances of misconduct that went fully undetected, “and two, that means we have a ten percent shot at success.” This is said as if ten percent is equatable to seventy five.

“Or we don’t and I have a hundred percent shot at a weekend without mom and dad.”

“Traitor.” Tommy shoves him out of the way, taking over control of the interactive display. “Yo display lady.”

A pleasant, lightly accented voice streams from the luminescent screen, “How may I help you?”

“Where are these rooms?”

A three second lag exists between the question and response, “Official training rooms are located at the Avengers compound, while beta-testing and highly complex simulations are housed here at Stark industries.”

Tommy stares at him, assuming this is somehow convincing. “No.”

“How many records are held by Vision?”

More silence and then the screen displays a table of dates and times, “Vision,” no  _The_  this time, likely because it was programmed by grandpa, “has eight time trial records across the two facilities.”

Another look from his brother implies this is all they need to know. Billy shakes his head. “And Scarlet Witch?”

The screen dissolves before providing new information. “Scarlet Witch has five records for time and three for amount of damage caused.”

“Go, mom!” Tommy is always more impressed by damage than time, something Steve has issues handling in their own training with the Young Avenger Initiative. “What about as a team?”

It’s to the credit of Tony’s programming that the AI understands the request in relation to the prior two questions. “Scarlet Witch and Vision, as a team, hold ten time records and eight damage records, including a combined record on training course Twenty Three, level of difficulty Wish You Were Never Born that has gone unchallenged for over eleven years.”

“Unchallenged.”

A smarmy confidence rests in Tommy’s eyes and finally the logic of his questioning clicks.  “No way.”

Tommy glares at him before returning to the screen, “Where’s that course?”

“Course Twenty Three is located here at Stark Industries.”

There’s something infuriatingly infectious about his brother’s need to rebel as a means of satisfying his drive to surpass others. It’s so tempting to say yes, but Billy digs his heels in, refusing to go along yet again with one of Tommy’s plans that, though always fun, never have fun consequences and dammit, he wants to spend the weekend with Teddy. “Not a chance.”

Exasperation fills every inch of Tommy’s flail. They move on and the silence is nice, if not a bit unsettling. “Question.”

Billy makes sure his annoyance is firmly on display. “What?”

“Would you rather try and break their record or,” a lightning fast push spins Billy around, “watch Cody manhandle mom?” Mortification gnaws at his resolve, their classmate groping the mannequin from the brief time the Scarlet Witch wore a leotard and tights. It’s when Cody makes direct eye contact with them and starts pantomiming his intentions that Billy’s hands snap shut, blue energy tingling under his skin. “You take him down, guarantee that houseboat is gone.” An arm loops amicably around his shoulder, pivoting him towards the authorized access door. “We go see the good stuff and you have slightly better odds.” Billy is turned back to Cody, who has only grown more vigorous in his lewd gesticulating, “No houseboat,” and then back to the door as if there are only two options, “or a shit ton of fun and possibly a houseboat.”

Billy sighs and Tommy’s mouth tips into a beaming smile. “Fine.” Immediately his mind starts justifying the decision, an 8.65% chance not the worst odds in the world, plus, if they aren’t in the room when the prototype of the next-gen Iron Man happens to fall on Cody, then no one can point at him as the culprit.

Wordlessly they carry out the escape, Billy always taking on the role of distraction through subtle manipulations of perceived reality and Tommy gleefully vibrating his molecules to slip through the wall and open the door. “Let’s go.”

For some reason, he had assumed walking through the door would be like that one movie they watched, with the oompa-loompas, a door opening and a world beyond imagination appearing before them -flying suits, disappearing materials, explosions, scientists in white coats and blue gloves. Instead it’s just a hallway with beige walls and linoleum floors and doors lining the way. “So, what’s the plan?”

A thrilled, unconcerned lift of his brother’s shoulders drops their chances of success at least a percent, “Walk like we own the place and see what we find.” It’s sadly not his worst plan.

And walk they do, Tommy’s chest puffed out and arms swinging in casual authority. Technically, they sort of own some of the place, via dad’s stake in the company, so it’s not like they are being overly deceptive. Each hallway looks the same, making it difficult to track exactly where they are going, until they find another door stating  _Credentials Required_ and a face scanner affixed to the wall. Tommy doesn’t even hesitate in shimmying through the wall, so Billy follows, hands parting the space in front of him so he can walk through, closing reality behind him with some hesitation, certain there have to be cameras somewhere tracking them.

That concern is tossed aside because now they find the cinematic reveal, an open hangar in front of them with some sort of alien-esque ship on the ground and four floors of glass doored, luminescent laboratories spanning the reach of their eyes. “The good stuff.” This is far better than replica uniforms. “Let’s go find the simulation.”

“But look at this stuff!”

The self-confidence he had admired earlier also goes hand-in-hand with a tendency for fixation. “Yeah, I see it.”

Billy does his best to keep pace with his twin, who has a habit of speeding up his walk when excited while forgetting other people can’t move nearly as fast. That combined with Billy’s desire to peer into every lab space and marvel at the work, makes their trip stream by incomprehensibly. He thinks he saw a phasing suit, maybe a new particle generator, some sort of extraterrestrial looking staff, a portal to a mountain side, what he thinks might be a baby raptor, and also their grandma, who he usually loves seeing but pulled Tommy out of view before she could spot them. “Do you have any idea where you’re going?”

“Nope.”

“Fantastic.”

“Where  _are_  you going?”

The voice is instantly recognizable, one they’ve grown up hearing and it’s a little judgmental and a little bit amused. Tommy swings around and puts on the fakest innocent smile the world has ever seen. “Hey, Grandpa!”

Tony smirks, unconvinced by the tone of the greeting, but he isn’t angry, which is a good start. “How are my favorite rebels doing?”

“Great, on a field trip.” Billy is in awe of people like Tommy and Tony who can act so natural, can just ooze bravado and a sense of entitlement on a whim.

There is a nod and a contemplative droop of his goatee. “Seems you got lost.”

Tommy nods along, “Yeah, been trying to find our classmates, have you seen them?”

Now Tony chuckles, slapping his hands together, giddy at the lie but still showing no signs of annoyance or reprimand. “I have not, but I imagine they can’t phase through walls like you two can.” Billy, personally, wilts at the calling out, while Tommy shrugs again, matching Tony’s stance and attitude. “What do you two want to see?”

“What?” It comes out before Billy can catch it, surprised at the quick approval of their misdeeds.

“I asked what you wanted to see,” Tony stares at them, concerned he has somehow slipped into another language, “There has to be a reason you barged through my walls.” Learning to function in both the superhero world and just being a teenager with parents who have rules you don’t agree with, requires an ability to spot entrapment, certain phrases purposely worded as openings for waltzing right into admonishment. When neither of them take the bait, Tony acts hurt, a shake of his head and a pained, expertly acted, clutched chest. “I thought I was the cool, eccentric grandfather,” a smile threatens to wash away Billy’s anxiety as Tony continues in pantomimed betrayal. “Is it Thor? Would you tell Thor what you want? I mean, I don’t blame you, those gorgeous, puppy dog eyes are a killer.” A snigger from Tommy and all apprehension leaves the atmosphere, Tony’s toothy grin absolving all guilt of their sneaking around. “Seriously, what do you want to see? I’ve got a brand spanking new interdimensional travel lab, some Skrull-based camouflage trials, there’s a spaceship downstairs, Helen has an updated, palm-sized cradle.”

All of it, every last one is what Billy wants to see, but Tommy beats him to the request, “We want to do simulation twenty three, Wish You Were Never Born.”

Understanding dawns on Tony’s face, “Want to show the parental units up, huh?”

“Yep.” Tommy is close to vibrating through the floor.

“It’s really dangerous,” the mood darkens until Tony presents them a masterclass, uncaring shrug they’ve seen numerous times in his press conferences and Senate hearings, “but I’m not your parents and so it is my duty to aid and abet your delinquency.”

An ecstatic arm closes around Billy’s shoulder as they follow their grandpa down four different hallways and three staircases, emerging into a vast, utterly empty warehouse. “You all have suits?” Tommy whips off his sweatshirt to reveal the Stark crafted, green and white suit he always wears under his clothes, yanking his goggles from his back pocket and pulling them down over his face. Since this seems to actually be happening, Billy waves his hands, materializing his own caped suit in place of his jeans and t-shirt. “All right then, let me go upstairs real fast.”

The climb into the observation booth is agonizing under Tommy’s uncontainable excitement, his feet a blur as he warms up, running in place. “Quick disclaimer, boys,” they look up at Stark’s face through the window, “there are numerous things that can seriously maim you in this course, kind of why your parents hold the record, the whole made of vibranium slant your dad’s got going makes him uniquely qualified to handle a lot of this and your mom is terrifying as well, so together, magic.” A seed of doubt sprouts in Billy’s mind, yet it is not given time to be nurtured a, “Anyway, best of luck!” and then the room comes alive around them.

To say the difficulty level name is apt is a bit of an understatement. At any given time there are over a dozen different foes, and for each type of challenge, there are at least a dozen individuals within it. It ranges from laser guns, incendiary robots that look an awful lot like Ultron, replicas of the Black Order, phasing, flame wielding alien things, and Billy’s least favorite right now, microscopic, swarming jellyfish that blister the skin on contact. In amongst the chaos of fighting, he can hear Tommy cycle between “Shit, shit, shit,” “Oh my God!”, “What the fuck is that,” and maniacal glee. Slowly, and painfully, they take down the threats, sometimes combining forces to remove a particularly difficult foe, and sometimes splitting up to decimate the weaker challenges.  

Looming over them is a very large clock, ticking away at their time and next to it, is the record of their parents. Their own clock continues, the numbers growing more similar to the goal and Billy assesses the surroundings, only taser faced bear-like creatures and giant bouncing orbs made of some sort of sticky, burning compound left. “Tommy!” His brother skids into view, mouth in a perennial smile and lungs heaving as he waits for the next strategy. “We have ten seconds, I say we vaporize.”

What seemed impossible is proven wrong, Tommy’s lips curving even higher as he fiddles with his goggles. “You hold them steady.”

“Will do.”

It’s a technique they birthed from their mistakes, the possibilities of their powers unknown and often discovered in embarrassing and unintentional ways. Like vaporizing soccer fields during gym class. Billy winds his powers around the last group of adversaries, wincing at the weight of their resistance as he adds more and more force to his hold. While he does this, Tommy runs a large circle around the bound creatures, legs pumping faster and faster with each lap until even Billy can’t track his position. That’s when it happens, a sonic boom that spreads through the warehouse, shoving Billy to the ground, puffs of smoke making the air murky, and then there is a “Hell yeah!” and the telltale sound of the buzzer their own training uses to signal success.

Tommy collapses on the ground next to Billy, “That was amazing.” All Billy can manage is a nod, lungs and body aching. “Do you think we did it?”

“Though impressive, unfortunately you were 8.65 seconds over.” Disappointing, but not bad. Far more worrisome is the unmistakably even English accent informing them of their failure.

Billy strains to sit up, glancing over his shoulder at the deep scowls of disappointment on his parents’ faces, next to the apologetic wince of Tony. “Fuck.”

“Language, William.” Tommy snorts and is met with a jab of blue to his chest. 

Two strikes in less than three seconds and the houseboat is most definitely floating away, “Sorry, dad.”

“What are you two doing here?” This time it’s their mom, her accent thicker when she’s angry and currently it sounds like she just moved here from Sokovia.

A hand pats Billy’s arm, a reassurance that really isn’t helping. “The field trip was just so boring.” Nor is Tommy’s attempt at defending their choice providing any hope of bringing the boat back. “We just wanted to see stuff.”

The intercom clicks and they are presented with a predictably logical alternative, “You could have asked us after the field trip. You had shown interest in a more detailed tour the other night, hence the reason why your mother and I were meeting you here instead of at home.”

Billy flops his head to stare deep into his twin’s goggled eyes, “I suggested that.”

“Shut up.”

Another click and mom is back on the microphone, “We’ve been speaking with the Altman’s,” any last, clinging hope withers away, “they were really looking forward to having you with them this weekend,” the feeling is mutual, “they suggested a nice compromise.” He waits to learn what this is, worried if he asks it will harm any goodwill left. “They invited all of us along on the trip.” 

Despair is far heavier than the physical toll of the course, and isn’t helped at all by the thumbs up next to him and the out-of-breath, “Yes, I love houseboats!”


End file.
